Something's Wrong (But It's Not You)
by Verdreht
Summary: "Danny knows something's wrong when Stiles answers Isaac's phone." Of all the things Danny could find out about his boyfriend, 'he's a werewolf' was never really on the list. And of all the ways he could find it out...this has got to be the worst. Also, Stiles has some explaining to do about 'Cousin Miguel.' hurt!Isaac, F.I.N.E.!Danny, part 4 of my mahealahey series
1. Chapter 1

Danny knows something's wrong when Stiles answers Isaac's phone.

He's been trying to get a hold of him since this morning. It's the first full moon of the summer, and color Danny a cheesy romantic, but he kind of had this idea in his head of him, Isaac, a blanket, and some junk food out on the bluff. A sort of moonlit picnic. He thought it'd be sweet, and Danny's always been kind of a closet astronomer. He can't really think of a better way to spend a Saturday night than alone with Isaac under the stars.

Except every time he's tried to text or call him to see if he's up for it, he hasn't answered. He's left a frankly _embarrassing_ number of messages, and he hasn't even heard a peep out of him, which isn't normal, because Isaac doesn't _not_ answer messages. He may not be an avid texter or anything, but at the very least, Danny thinks he would've gotten a _Can't talk_ or a _Sorry, busy_ by now.

Naturally, he's spent the better part of the day worrying about him. He doesn't think he did anything to upset him, and if he did, Isaac's not the type to go radio-silent for a grudge. Especially not when the last few texts Danny have sent have been somewhere along the lines of _R u ok?_ and _I'm worried, plz txt back. _Because Isaac has this _thing _about Danny worrying about him, and even if Danny did do something, he doesn't think Isaac would leave him hanging like this. Not on purpose.

Which has him wondering what came up. It doesn't help that, when he texted Scott and Stiles to see if they'd seen him, he got nil from Scott and an _idj_ from Stiles that he's pretty sure was supposed to be _idk_ and nothing else. Even Lydia didn't have anything to say to him, just that maybe he'd left his phone somewhere. And even though that made total sense and was actually totally possible, it didn't do anything to ease the nervous feeling in the pit of Danny's stomach.

That feeling just gets worse when he hears Stiles' voice on the other end of _Isaac_'s phone.

"Stiles, why do you have Isaac's phone?"

"Now's not really a good time," Stiles says. He sounds anxious, and he's talking awfully loud. It takes Danny a second to figure out why.

There's shouting in the background. Some voices he doesn't recognize, and some he does. "What's going on? Stiles, is Isaac there? Why are there people yelling?" Loudly, he might add. And there are strange sounds. Maybe it's just the reception, but they sound almost like…howls. Which is both stupid, he tells himself, because there haven't been wolves in California for, like, sixty years, and really not important in the grand scheme of things. "Stiles!"

"Danny, I can't—" He hears Stiles sigh on the other end. "Okay, you know the animal clinic right off the highway?"

That kind of throws Danny, but he manages a sort of confused, "Yeah, why?"

"Just meet us there."

"Us?" Danny asks at the same time he hears someone in the background shout Stiles' name. The voice sounds familiar, but it's not one he can put a name to. Too deep to be one of their gang's.

"Just hurry." And then Stiles hangs up the phone before Danny can ask anything else.

He probably should. Ask something else, he means, at least to himself. He just heard people shouting, _screaming_ it sounded like, and Stiles sounded like he was calling in from the middle of a freaking war zone. That should probably raise a few red flags. And meeting them at the vet?

Only, he's already throwing on some jeans and a jacket and running out to his car.

It normally takes Danny about fifteen minutes to get to the vet from his house. He makes it there in about nine. Amazing what running a few red lights and fudging a few speed limits'll do for a commute.

His parking job's for crap, but he doesn't really care. Not only is he in a hurry, but two of the three other cars in the lot are parked even worse than his. Allison's jeep is catty-cornered by the bushes, and Stiles' jeep looks like it might've _actually_ hit the side of the building over by the garage door around the side.

Danny doesn't exactly take the time to check. He's barely shut the car off before he's climbing out jogging for the door. He knows he might be freaking out over nothing, but it's just – the way Stiles sounded, Isaac not answering his phone all day…he's _worried_. Like, nausea-level worried, so much that he actually hits the wrong side of the door when he gets there, and he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed.

Not even when he actually gets in, and freaking everyone and their _mother_ is standing there looking at him. Stiles is there, and Allison, and Scott, and they're all three looking at him with wide eyes, and it occurs to him that he probably looks like a crazy person, but he doesn't care, because he's too busy bugging out over how _they _look.

They look like hell. Worse, they look like someone took hell, beat the crap out of it, put it through a paper shredder, rolled it around in mud, and then kept it up for three days straight watching horror flicks. They all look rattled and tired at the same time, and they've all got cuts and bruises that Danny can see just from looking at them. Scott, especially. One whole sleeve of his shirt is ripped off, and he's got bandages around his whole upper arm, almost to his elbow. He's got a big bruise on his cheek, and Danny notices he doesn't get up like Stiles and Allison do.

Stiles is pretty messed up, too. His shirt's more mud than fabric, he thinks, and he's got an ice pack ACE-wrapped to his shoulder and a fresh white bandage on his wrist.

And as awful as all of this, it pales not quite to utter insignificance, but at least markedly lower priority to the fact that _Isaac isn't there_. See, the more he played that phone call over in his head, the more he thought about that scream he heard, the more he could've sworn it sounded like him. He would know that voice anywhere, and if that was him screaming, and if these guys look the way that they do, then—

"Where is he?" His voice sounds strained and reedy, even to his own ears. He tries to tell himself he's overreacting, that he doesn't even know that Isaac's there, or that he's even hurt like they are, except it's not working, because Stiles had Isaac's phone, and he could've sworn he heard him, and he's just got this really horrible feeling in his stomach that something's really, really wrong. "Stiles, where is he? What happened?"

"It's a long story," Stiles hedges. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's been yelling, and it's just barely loud enough to be heard over the crazy amounts of dog barks going on in the back room. As freaked out as he is, there's a part of Danny that just wants to tell him to sit down and stop moving, because he looks like he's about to fall down.

But there's something about the way he's refusing to look Danny in the eyes that's tightening the knot in Danny's chest, and when Stiles opens his mouth again, Danny cuts him off. "Stiles," he says slowly, "is Isaac okay?" Because between the way all of them look, and the way none of them will really look at _him_, he's starting to get the impression there's some seriously bad news waiting for him.

He almost regrets asking, partly because of that impending bad news he's expecting in return, but mostly because of the way Stiles' jaw tightens. Danny's no psychic, but he's pretty good at reading people, and that…that's not a good sign.

"He's gonna be," Scott says from his seat over against the wall, and it doesn't _sound_ like he's lying, but when Danny looks over at him, he doesn't look happy, either. The dogs are barking even louder, now, and Danny thinks he might hear a voice in the back that sounds a lot like the vet's, but honestly, he's pretty sure his heart beat is the loudest thing in the room.

His new level of _ohmygod_ must show on his face, because Stiles cracks a smile that's so forced it actually only makes things worse. "Breathe, Danny Boy," he says, clapping Danny on the shoulder with his good arm. "He's a little worse for wear, yeah, but Doc Deaton's taking care of him."

And Danny's, like, ninety-nine percent sure he didn't hear that right, because there's no way the _veterinarian _who neutered his _dog_ is in any way involved in _taking care_ of his _boyfriend_. The man is a vet, not a doctor, and Danny's just about to tell Stiles as much right before he goes and finds Isaac himself to take him to the damn hospital where he should be in the first place – where they probably _all_ should be – but then a sound stops him dead.

It's not a scream.

It is, but it's really, really not. There's something else about it, something not right. Something not….

Not human.

Which should probably send him running out the front door, away from his friends that are all either lunatics in hiding, or Beacon Hills' own personal Fight Club. He should probably be out in his car, like, five minutes ago, speeding away from this place like a bat out of hell before the crazy catches or before the crazies catch him.

Except it's too late; the crazy must've already caught, because instead of doing any of those perfectly rational, logical, _sane_ things, the next thing he knows, he's sprinting for the back room as fast as his legs will carry him. And it's a crazy, stupid thing to do, and he knows that, but in keeping with his theme for the night, he really can't bring himself to care.

Because even though that scream didn't sound right, even though it didn't sound _natural_….

It sounded an awful lot like Isaac.


	2. Chapter 2

Danny makes it all of two steps into the exam room. Three, maybe, if he counts his stumble when Stiles bumps into him from behind. He's muttering something about signaling his stops, but Danny's not really paying him any attention. There are more important things going on than Danny's bad manners and Stiles' bad reaction time.

Danny was right: he definitely heard Dr. Deaton's voice. He doesn't hear it, now, but he can see the man himself. He's standing with his back to the door in front of the metal exam table, and maybe it's just the stress getting to him, but Danny could swear that from the back, the guy he's standing next to looks a lot like Stiles' cousin, Miguel. There's another man, an older guy, standing on the far side of the table, but Danny doesn't recognize him, and honestly, this doesn't really strike him as the time for introductions.

Because there's a fourth person, except he's not standing around the table; he's lying on it. Between Deaton and Miguel, he can't actually see anything more than his lower legs and the very top of his head. That's all he needs, though. He knows those legs, and he definitely, _definitely_ knows that hair.

"Isaac?"

Stiles grabs his shoulder. "Danny, wait, Isaac's—"

But Danny wrenches free before he can finish saying whatever it was he was going to say, and it barely even occurs to him that he's stepping in blood or whatever that black oil-like mess is on the floor. All that matters is getting to Isaac. Only, when he does—

He freezes.

"—kind of a werewolf right now," Stiles finishes behind him, and okay, maybe he should've waited to hear it, but he really doesn't think, with what little of his brain is still capable of stringing together coherent thoughts, that it would've done much good.

It's not Isaac. It is, but it isn't, just like the sound he heard was, but wasn't a scream. He _is_ Isaac, but he's…something else. He's different. His face is…Danny can't really describe it, except it reminds him, in his semi-hysterical delirium, of the vampires in Buffy, but more…lupine? His brow's more pronounced, with strong ridges that give him this sort of furrow, only it's kind of hard to tell how much of that's normal – normal here being very, very relative – and how much of it is the way he's grimacing.

Because he is. Grimacing, Danny means, and twisting and snarling. Actually _snarling_, and _my_, Danny thinks with that same little bit of hysteria, what big teeth he has. And he sees out of the corners of his eyes, he's got the claws to match, digging into the metal of the table.

It's his eyes, though, that hit Danny the hardest. They're not blue. They're not _Isaac's_ blue, but this impossibly-bright gold. They're…they're _unnatural_.

But then…Isaac's always had the most expressive eyes Danny's ever seen. These are a different color, but they're still…they're still somehow the same eyes. They're still Isaac. _He_ is still Isaac.

And he's hurt. Badly. His shirt's gone, and Danny doesn't know if it's because they cut it, or if it just didn't survive whatever made those four vicious-looking gashes across Isaac's chest. The left leg of his jeans is gone, too, but Danny knows someone tore them off, because they're lying in bloody scraps on the floor by Miguel's feet.

"Stiles!" Miguel's voice snaps Danny back to reality – if that's really what this is, anyway. He's really not sure, and he's actually kind of hoping it's not, not because of the whole 'Isaac isn't human' thing, but because he thinks he might actually be dying. And God, next to that, the rest of it doesn't even seem to matter that much.

Miguel's voice, though, it makes Danny jump for reasons that feel like more than just being startled. There's this edge to it that Danny can't quite place, maybe because his brain went and broke when he realized his boyfriend the werewolf – and wow, he officially sounds like a nutcase – is freaking bleeding out on the freaking floor of a freaking veterinarian's office.

It takes him a second to realize Miguel is looking at him, and now Danny knows he's losing his mind, because he swears his eyes are _red_. Not gold, like Isaac's, but like, LED, XBOX Red Ring of Death red, and that's _got_ to be impossible, right? Overkill, too, because that look is scary enough on its own, thanks.

"Get him out of here," Miguel's barking, and Danny's really not sure why that word is the first one that comes to mind, but it fits.

"No!"

It actually takes Danny a second to realize _he's_ the one that said that, because everything feels kind of detached right now, like it's a dream, except he doesn't think he's ever had a dream this vivid. He can almost _taste_ copper on his tongue.

But no, it was definitely him, and now everyone's looking at him. Everyone but Isaac, who acts like he's so busy trying to get loose that he doesn't even notice every move he makes makes more blood well out onto the table. It's like he's lost it. Like this thing he's turned into, it's feral or something, and Danny just wants to scream at him and tell him to stay still, to stop moving because it's making it worse, but he doesn't even know if he would understand.

So, instead, he turns his best attempt at a firm look at Miguel. "I'm not leaving."

Miguel's glare hardens, and it looks like he's about to say something, but Stiles chimes in again. "Maybe he could help."

Honestly, Danny's really not sure. Deaton looks like he's doing something down by Isaac's leg – and oh dear God, is that a bullet hole? And why are there black lines around it? – that gives Danny a little hope that he knows what he's doing, which is way more than Danny would be able to say. And it looks like between Miguel and whoever the older guy is, they've got Isaac pretty much handled, and if they notice that the guy they're currently trying to restrain has claws that can _pierce metal_, it doesn't seem to bother them.

Danny's definitely pulling for this being a freakishly vivid dream.

Either way, dream or not, he has no idea what Stiles has in mind. But if it means staying, then he guesses he's not about to argue.

Fortunately, the older guy's got something a little better than strategic silence to offer on the 'keep Danny around' front. "He's right, Derek."

That kind of throws Danny, because he's clearly talking to Miguel, but he called him Derek. But of all the things Danny's mind is actually capable of putting together in the midst of this crisis, that's is apparently one of them, and he remembers all the times Stiles has talked about this 'Derek' guy, who is apparently Miguel, who is _hopefully_ not Stiles' cousin. Because his boyfriend being a supernatural creature is apparently one thing, but he thinks he has to draw the line at incest.

What even is his life anymore?

"Maybe he can calm him down," Stiles adds helpfully. "I mean, it's worth a shot, right? Since the ketamine's pretty much useless."

"You gave him ketamine?" Danny snaps before he can stop himself, because a) he's volunteered at a hospital and seen someone on ketamine and they are _not_ this mobile; and b) why did the vet who is definitely not a trained anesthesiologist give his at least part-time human boyfriend a powerful anesthetic? And okay, maybe it's a little stupid to be worrying about drug dosages in light of everything else that's going on right now, but still.

They ignore him, anyway.

"Come on. It worked for you that one time," Stiles presses.

Which, Danny thinks, would mean that…he's a – Danny's never going to get used to this - _werewolf_, too? And suddenly it makes a lot more sense why Mig-_Derek_ isn't bothered by the whole tooth-and-claw thing. That is, if _any_ of this makes sense, which it really doesn't. Not right at the moment, anyway.

"I can take care of it," Derek growls, and Danny swears he sees his eyes flash red again, and he thinks his teeth are sharper when he starts to open his mouth, but then the older guy cuts him off.

"Really? That's what you're gonna go with? _Scare_ the kid into _calming down_?" he says dryly. "Just a suggestion: how about we hold off on the tough love until we've given the regular kind a try, huh?"

Derek's scowl darkens, and he doesn't actually give the go-ahead, but neither does Danny find himself being thrown out the door by Stiles' super-human not-cousin, so he guesses it's a go.

"What do I do?" he asks, because he's kind of out of his element here. He wants to help, wants to do something, but he has absolutely no idea what that something should be. And he's trying not to panic, because he's pretty sure that's not going to help, and he's got it in his head that maybe Isaac could sense it or something? Which sounds kind of silly when he puts it to words, but weirder things have happened. In the last five minutes, even.

"Just try talking to him," the older guy says, and Danny can't help thinking he's awfully calm about this whole thing. Even Derek looks like he's freaking out a little bit, especially when Isaac lets out what Danny wouldn't describe as a howl as much as a roar. A cry, maybe. Derek's jaw clenches so tight the muscle actually casts a shadow, and it's almost like someone literally punched him in the gut.

Danny flinches, too, because even though he feels like he's not getting the full message, it just sounds…desperate. It's a low sound, gravelly, and Danny thinks it should sound scary, but it just kind of makes him want to hug him and tell him it's okay.

Somehow, though, he doesn't think that would go over so well. Instead, Danny takes a deep breath and reaches a shaking hand towards Isaac's face. Guiltily, he admits there's a part of him – a _big_ part – that's afraid of him. Of Isaac. Of soft-spoken, caring, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly-unless-it-hurt-someone-else-fi rst _Isaac_.

And then he flinches. Isaac does, and oh God, the sound he lets out, this heart-wrenching half-whimper, half-yelp like Danny's about to swat him on the nose or something….

Great, Danny thinks. His boyfriend's a werewolf, and _he's_ an asshole.

"It's okay," he says almost automatically, and his fingers find Isaac's hair almost on reflex. Isaac's got a bit of a problem with nightmares – understandable, with the kind of crap he's been through, and that's not even counting this new development – and even though Danny's increasingly certain this is _not_ a nightmare, it's just kind of a natural reaction. "You're okay, Isaac. You're okay."

It should probably bother him that there are four other people in the room, and this is kind of an intimate thing, but it just really, really doesn't. Not as much as the fact that one of those four people, Deaton, is digging around in his boyfriend's leg with a pair of calipers. Not as much as the fact that every heave of Isaac's chest sends more blood running down to the table. And definitely not as much as the fact that Isaac is awake and suffering through every last God-awful, horrible bit of it.

Next to all that, the whole werewolf thing doesn't seem like such a big deal, either.

The sudden dull ring of metal snaps Danny out of his head. Isaac's digging his head back against the table, and after a second, a sharper metallic clang sounds that Danny recognizes from too many crime dramas as the sound of a bullet hitting a metal tin. And he tries not to think about what that means – _someone shot Isaac, someone shot Isaac, why, why would someone shoot Isaac?_ – while simultaneously trying not to throw up, which is working surprisingly well.

Until Isaac throws up.

Danny's lucky enough to be standing at the head of the table, so all he has to do is sidestep to avoid getting hit. Derek's shoes catch a little, but he doesn't even seem to notice, much less care.

Danny is a little less blasé about the whole thing. "Why is it black?" His voice comes out a little higher than normal, but he thinks it's justifiable. Isaac did just vomit motor oil.

"It's his body purging the toxin," Deaton explains. He's just finished bandaging up Isaac's leg, and he walks around behind Derek, Danny guesses to get to his chest.

Danny feels his jaw clench. "He was poisoned?" Shooting him and slicing him up wasn't enough? What kind of sick people did this?

"It's the bullets," Stiles says. "They fill them with aconite."

So, that's what Stiles and Lydia were talking about that day at the table. He did do a little digging after the fact. Enough to know that when Stiles says aconite, he's talking about, "Wolfsbane."

Deaton nods, casually stepping back as another round of heaves expel a little more of the black muck. Danny finds himself subconsciously rubbing Isaac's back where it's come up off the table, like somehow that'll help make him feel better. Unlikely.

On the plus side, it makes it pretty easy to grab him when his whole body goes slack. He and the older guy whose name Danny's going to have to get when he's done having a heart attack both ease him back onto the table, and Danny's own stomach does a flip when he sees his eyes are closed.

"What…just happened?" Stiles asks. Danny's both grateful for the question, and glad he's not the one asking for once.

But Deaton just steps back up to the table, skillfully avoiding the puddle of _toxin_, and with a few quick lifts of Isaac's lids, goes back to looking more or less at ease. "He's just unconscious."

This time, it is Danny that asks, "So, he doesn't…" but he can't quite figure out how to finish it.

Mercifully, and surprisingly, Derek actually helps him. "We don't always change back when we're unconscious. Between the wolfsbane and the full moon, I would be more surprised if he did."

Well, okay then, Danny thinks. The more you know. It doesn't really do much for his heart palpitations, but he'll live. And he thinks, at least from the way the others are acting, that Isaac will, too.

Now if they can just both survive the talk they're gonna have to have when Isaac's...back to his usual self again, he guesses, they should be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

It's kind of scary how smoothly things go from there. Not that he isn't glad things are starting to calm down and everyone seems to be coming down off DefCon 4, because he is.

It just sort of makes him wonder how many times they've done this before.

More than once, Danny thinks. It's gotta be, because they don't even have to talk; they all just…do…stuff. Soon as Deaton's got Isaac all bandaged up – and Danny feels like those gashes on his chest definitely should've gotten stitches or something, but he's gotten the impression Deaton kind of knows what he's doing, and Danny knows he personally kind of doesn't, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets the man do his thing – they start cleaning up. Scott and Allison come in to help, and either Danny's imagining things, or the bruise on Scott's cheek is a lot lighter than it was a half hour again.

At this point, he's not actually sure which is more likely, so he just doesn't think about it. Instead, he tries to help where he can. Partly because it keeps his mind off, well, _everything else_, but mostly because he just wants to help. He ends up making a sort of make-shift cot out of the exam table, once Deaton's done cleaning off all the—

Anyway, he puts some blankets down on the freshly-cleaned table, and then gets out of the way so Derek can put Isaac back down on it. And okay, Isaac's not the biggest guy out there, but he's, like, six feet and change of solid muscle; Derek should at least have a little trouble picking him up. As far as Danny can tell, though, he might as well be lifting a bag of freaking packing peanuts.

Absently, Danny adds 'super strength' to his brand new mental list of werewolf abilities. It's on there with what Danny really hopes is some sort of Wolverine-esque healing factor, as demonstrated by Scott's miraculously-healing bruise. Because he's just about convinced himself that Isaac is not, in fact, going to die, but thinking he's got super healing definitely helps.

And then everybody's clearing out. Allison says her dad will be looking for her, and apparently that means something to everyone, and Danny's thinking it's nothing good, but once again, he's out of the loop.

Scott volunteers to drive her home, though, so at least something's right with the world. The day Scott stops fawning over Allison is the day that Danny will really know he's in trouble. But they leave together, and then Deaton says something about getting some work done and disappears into the front of the clinic with the instructions to call him if they need him, which leaves Danny with an unconscious Isaac, Derek, Guy-Whose-Name-Danny-Will-Eventually-Get, and Stiles.

Speaking of whom, "So, how you holding up, Danny Boy/"

Danny probably shouldn't jump – Stiles' voice is pretty quiet, and it's not like he's actually trying to sneak up on him – but he's so wound up, he actually almost trips over his own feet turning around to face him.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, and Danny can't tell if it's concern, or if he thinks Danny's crazy. Both would probably be totally fair at this point. "I'm gonna take that as a 'not so great.'"

A little chuckle bubbles up from…Danny's really not sure where, and it probably doesn't do a whole heck of a lot of good on the crazy front, but he's actually beyond caring. "Let's go with that," he says. It's better than the truth, at least.

Because the truth is, Danny just saw a whole lot of nightmare-worthy shit, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees Isaac bleeding all over the place and screaming, and every time he opens them, he sees a freaking _werewolf_. And the thing is, he knows which one's worse, and that actually kind of scares him, too, because he feels like it should be the other way around for any sort of rational, logical, _sane_ human being.

And yet here he is, staring at Isaac sleeping face and trying not to blink.

"You actually get used to it," Stiles says offhandedly, like this is a totally normal situation and a totally normal conversation they're having. "The way they look when they're all wolfed-out, I mean. I think they're kind of cool, personally, but I might be a little biased." He pauses, but only for a second. "Then again, you and I are kind of in the same boat there if you think about it."

Danny's not really sure how he means, and he's about to ask him, if only because the more Stiles talks, the less Danny has to think, but before he can ask—

"Stiles, come on."

Danny tears his eyes away from Isaac – and okay, maybe Stiles is right; he thinks he might actually be getting used to the way Isaac looks when he's 'wolfed-out'…at least, he might be starting to – and he sees Derek standing by the doorway. Older Guy is standing by him, and Danny wasn't really paying attention, but he thinks they might've just been talking.

Stiles turns around, too. "What?"

"I said come on," Derek repeats, a little slower this time. Danny can tell his jaw's clenched from halfway across the room. What he can't tell is if it's out of frustration, or if that frown he's wearing is actually his version of concern. Kinda looks like concern. Especially his eyes. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"That sounds—wait, what?" Stiles does a double take, and Danny can't see his face, but he imagines he's got that kind of slack-jawed, incredulous, _wtf_ face he gets sometimes.

Derek actually sighs, and Danny thinks that if he listens close enough, he can _actually_ hear his teeth grinding. Which is funny, because Danny feels like Derek's the kind of guy that would punch you in the face as soon as look at you, but now he's standing there, patiently – more or less, anyway – waiting for Stiles to catch on.

"I'm. Taking. You. To. The. Hospital."

"I heard what you said," Stiles retorts.

"Then why are we still here?"

"Because it's a stupid idea! You didn't make Allison go to the hospital."

"She's Scott's problem; you're mine." Which would probably sound a lot better, Danny thinks, if he knew the guy. It's _probably_ sweet. Probably. "And an Alpha didn't fling her around like a rag doll."

"Hey, I take offense to that. I'm, like, at least an action figure. A bad ass action figure."

Because of course, that's what Stiles has a problem with, Danny thinks. Not apparently getting thrown by whatever the hell an Alpha is – he thinks 'werewolf' is a safe bet, but the way Derek says it, it sounds a little more important and imposing than that – but being called a rag doll. And to think, he thought Stiles was crazy _before_ all this.

But nope, no, this is definitely a new level of crazy.

"Don't be such a sourwolf, okay? I'm fine. Seriously, never been better."

Derek's frown deepens. "You can't move your shoulder."

"I can," Stiles protests stubbornly. "I simply choose not to."

"Stiles." The name sounds an awful lot like a warning.

Not that Stiles seems to care. "Sourwolf."

Danny feels a little like he's watching a ping pong game, watching the two of them go back and forth. And maybe it's just the insanity-slash-hilarity of the situation, but he actually almost feels a little like laughing, because Derek's a werewolf and Stiles looks like he just went three rounds with Mike Tyson, and yet here they are, _both_ bickering like an old married couple.

When Danny looks to Derek for his return, though, he doesn't say anything. He's scowling, and wow, if looks could kill, Stiles would probably be a puddle simpering goo on the floor. Only, and Danny's not really sure if this is a standard or a situational thing, but from what he can tell, Stiles seems pretty much immune to the power of the glower.

…Yep, he's definitely lost it.

"Come on, I can't just leave," Stiles says, like it's actually a ridiculous suggestion. "What about Danny?"

Danny chimes in on reflex. "Don't bring me into this." Because seriously, the world of the supernatural's enough for one day, thank you very much. There's no way he's getting dragged into the middle of Stiles' and Derek's little lover's spat.

He chooses life.

Besides, he kind of agrees with Derek. Stiles looks like he could use professional help – maybe in more ways than one…not that Danny can really talk anymore – and while he gets not taking Isaac, given his current…condition, as far as he knows, Stiles is perfectly human and definitely in need of medical attention, at least for his shoulder. Hospital actually seems like a pretty rational choice.

Stiles glances back at him, a look of pointed irritation that looks a little more comical than Derek's, but still reads with the same general message of _Idiot, I'm trying to help you_. And then he turns back around and seems to decide on a different approach. "And what about you? You can't leave, either. What if Isaac wakes up and is still all, you know, _grr_," and he holds up hands in a claw at his side, and Danny can't see his face, but it sounds like he's snarling. And if the tick of Older Guy's eyebrow is anything to go by, he's probably missing out. "You're just gonna leave Doc Deaton and Danny here to play the Little Red Riding Hoods to his Big Bad Wolf?"

"Big Bad Wolf?" Danny says, the same time Older Guy says, "Little Red Riding Hood?" and they both sound varying shades of disbelieving. Danny, because even now that the wolf thing fits, he's still having trouble fitting Isaac together with the words 'big' and 'bad.' He's not really sure what Older Guy's skeptical about.

Stiles seems to, though. "Okay," he says, "so the guy's kind of a bad ass that could kill you with a spice rack." Danny's not sure if that's a story that he really wants to hear, or, if for the sake of his fading delusions of sanity, ignorance is bliss. "But I kind of thought the goal here was, you know, nobody dies, so…"

Older Guy rolls his eyes. "Nobody's going to die," he says, and then he looks over specifically at Danny and repeats, "Nobody's going to die."

"See, you say that _now_, but—"

"Stiles!" Derek cuts him off sharply. "Peter's staying."

Oh. That's his name. Peter.

_Peter_ nods. "I'll hold the fort down until Derek gets back. So, see, nothing to worry about." And he smiles a smile that is either reassuring and innocent, or creepy and devious. Danny can't decide.

Apparently, Stiles doesn't have that problem. "Hah," he laughs hollowly, "hah, see, that's funny, because that actually makes me worry _more_."

"You wound me."

"And not to bring up old news, but you kill people, so…" Stiles holds up his hands – Danny notices he's not moving his shoulder – and kind of teeter-totters between them.

Okay, he _really_ hopes Stiles is kidding. Except he kind of gets the feeling that he's not, and that somehow makes Danny feel worse than he did thinking it would just be him and Deaton. Isaac's one thing. At least he can almost convince himself that maybe Isaac wouldn't hurt him. That's how it happens in the movies, right? That whole moment where the big bad beastie's about to kill the damsel and then it suddenly and miraculously realizes what it's doing and, well, _doesn't_ kill the damsel. And while Danny's not exactly psyched about being the damsel in his own freaking movie scenario, he's secure enough with himself to deal with it, and secure enough with _Isaac_ to actually kind of believe it.

Peter the People-Killer on the other hand is another story. Peter the People-Killer is…

…Is looking right at him.

"He's just being dramatic," Peter tells him, and Danny wonders if that means he _didn't_ actually kill people, because that…that would be super. But then, "They started it."

Oh.

Well.

That makes everything better.

Or, you know…not.

Danny wants to say something, but honestly, he's kind of afraid of starting something with Peter around, so he keeps quiet. Luckily, it turns out Stiles is pretty much fearless – that, or he just doesn't have the same grasp of self-preservation as most of the rest of the population, which, now that Danny thinks about it, is probably actually it – and he also seems to think this is a monumentally bad idea.

"I would just like to go on record as saying this is a monumentally bad idea."

Danny couldn't have said it better himself.

"Duly noted," Peter says. "But you'll have to take your complaints to the manager." Who is apparently Derek, not just because that's who Peter jabs his thumb at, but just because he's got this whole aura thing going that doesn't so much scream authority as growl it angrily.

Stiles looks at Derek. "How 'bout it, sourwolf? It's not like a few more hours is gonna kill me. I can go in the morning. Or maybe Deaton could look at it. Wouldn't be the first time. A little bit of Ace wrap, some more ice, and I'll be good to—"

"Stiles!"

"—go."

"I think that's kind of the idea," Peter suggests helpfully.

But even for all the two's combined urgings, Stiles still isn't sold. He doesn't go; instead, he turns around to Danny, and with his eyes come the other two pairs, and oh _God,_ Danny wishes he could hide behind the table without looking like a complete and utter tool.

"You sure you'll be okay here?" Stiles asks. Danny thinks this might be the first time he's ever heard him so serious.

He doesn't think he likes it.

He's also not really happy with the way Peter crosses the room, walks around Isaac's make-shift bed, and puts an arm around his shoulders like their best friends.

"Of course he'll be okay. I wouldn't let anything happen to Danny Boy here. I actually kind of like him."

Danny knows he should be a little more upset about someone speaking for him, especially someone that may or may not have homicidal tendencies, but he's actually a lot more annoyed about the God-awful nickname spreading. Seriously, he's not an Irish sailor, and he doesn't want to be associated with anything sung to the tune of "Londonderry Air." He's taken French for too long not to see the joke.

Stiles looks at him. "Danny?"

_No_, Danny wants to say. He's not okay. He won't be okay in the foreseeable future. Not until Isaac wakes up, not until he knows _he's_ okay, not until he gets some damn answers, and not until he can figure out what the heck's just happened with his life.

But Stiles also isn't okay, in a much more vital and immediately-fixable sense. There's exactly jack Danny can do about his problems right now, but Derek's trying to get Stiles taken care of, and the only thing standing in the way of that is Stiles worrying about Danny.

He needs to get his freaking head on straight. Panicking doesn't do anything, and hey, if _Stiles_ can go through whatever it is he's been through and still be this unbelievably together, then Danny can at least try and take one for the team.

So, instead, he nods. It's probably shaky, and his heart's pounding about a mile a minute, but he even manages to find his voice. "Yeah, I'll be good," he says. "You just go take care of that." He gestures to his own shoulder, and it serves the double purpose of illustrating his point, and, giving him an excuse to brush Peter's hand away. He's trying not to judge the guy, because if this night has proven anything – besides the fact that he is tragically and inexorably in love with Isaac Lahey in whatever form he may take – it's that he doesn't really know anything about anything, and he's got a whole hell of a lot to learn. But he's not naïve, either, and if Stiles and Derek don't trust Peter, then he's betting there's a pretty good reason.

Killing people, just for example.

However shaky and uncertain he is, though, it seems to be convincing enough, because after a few more seconds, Stiles makes a face. "You know the number for 9-1-1, right?"

"Either you're joking, or you need a CT scan."

"Of course he's joking," Peter says, and if Danny's subtle brush-off bothered him, he doesn't show it. "We don't call the police."

And then he leans against the table, and Danny gets this weird sort of urge to shoo him away that kind of catches him by surprise. He's not really the type to be possessive. Well…not to _show it_, at least. He's more subtle. The blatant over-protectiveness is kind of more Isaac's prerogative. Judging by the way Derek's acting, he'd say that might be kind of standard werewolf operating procedure.

And wow, suddenly all that Isaac-on-Greenberg violence on the lacrosse field makes way more sense.

Over Stiles' shoulder, Derek gives Peter a stern look, and Peter holds up his hands and takes a step back. "Stiles," he says, then, and this time, with one last nod and what Danny _thinks_ is supposed to be a reassuring smile – the split lip kind of takes away from it, but he appreciates the effort – Stiles walks stiffly over to the door.

As soon as he gets within arm's reach, Derek's slipping an arm around his waist. Stiles mutters something under his breath, and Derek flashes Peter a look before they leave. He doesn't say anything, but with that look, he doesn't have to. The undercurrent's pretty loud and clear. _Behave_.

The red eyes really just hammer the point home.

Then they're gone, and Danny thinks he hears Deacon tell them to be careful, and he thinks he hears Stiles tell Deacon to do something in return, but he's not listening too carefully, because Isaac's started shifting around. He doesn't know much about how werewolves work, but he can't help noticing that the second Derek leaves is the second Isaac starts getting restless. His sweat-dampened brows furrow deeper, his nose flares, and these soft, low whines sound from his thinly-pursed lips.

Oddly, this part's kind of familiar territory.

"Hey," he says softly, sliding his fingers through his hair. There's more of it, now; his sideburns are longer, coming down in front of his pointed ears along his jawline, and the hair – does that count? – looks like it should be coarser, but as Danny brushes the backs of his knuckles over the side of his face, he finds it's just as soft as the rest of his hair. And he can't help wondering, if Isaac turns into a real wolf, if his whole body would be like that, all soft and maybe a little bit curly and—

And he is totally getting off topic.

"He's restless," Peter notes, and Danny glances over just long enough to see that a couple of chairs have appeared out of nowhere, and that Peter's sitting casually in one of them. The other's literally right behind his legs, and Danny's choosing not to think about how Peter got it there without him even hearing it. "His Alpha's gone."

"His Alpha?" There's that word again, only this time, he thinks he's talking about Derek. Since it seems like a pretty safe bet to say that Derek wasn't the one beating the crap out of Stiles, Danny's starting to wonder just what the hell it means.

Behind him, Peter chuckles. "Oh, Danny Boy…you and I have a lot to talk about."

"It's Danny." There's no bite to the words. Actually, he's making an effort to keep his voice soft and civil, not only because of Peter, but also because Alpha or no Alpha, werewolves or no werewolves, Isaac needs rest, and he's not going to get it with Danny starting World War III over a stupid nickname.

Mercifully, Peter seems to accept the unspoken terms of their conversation. "Alright, then. _Danny_. My name's Peter."

Danny's hands are a little too full to offer a handshake, but he nods to show he's heard him. He figures telling him he already knew that would be kind of pointless, not to mention rude.

Look at him. Standing in a vet's office with a supposedly homicidal potential sociopath and his unconscious werewolf boyfriend, and he's worried about manners. His mother would be so proud. Or freaked out. Probably freaked out.

Who's he kidding? She'd probably have a stroke. Honestly, it's a wonder _he_ hasn't. Because seriously, this is crazy. Like, B-movie dramatic, plot twist straight out of left-field crazy.

And yet here he is.

Isaac whines again, pulling Danny back out of his thoughts. He's squirming a little more, shifting in his sleep like he can't quite get comfortable. If this were any other time, and they were back at Danny's place pulling another one of their impromptu sleepovers, he'd just pull Isaac closer and mumble semi-incoherently at him – okay, in his defense, he's kind of a heavy sleeper – until he settled back down. Ideally, at least. There are times it doesn't work out like that—

But he digresses. Again. And wow, this is getting kind of ridiculous. If he keeps this up, he's gonna have to start asking Stiles to borrow some of his Adderall.

Luckily, focusing on Isaac's kind of a talent of Danny's. He likes to think taking care of him is, too. So when he sees Isaac's head tossing and turning and realizes there's nothing but a thin blanket between it and the cold hard metal of the table, he automatically starts shedding his jacket because it's the first thing that comes to mind as a suitable pillow replacement. Quickly, he balls it up, but then very carefully slips his hand behind Isaac's head to lift it so that he can put it in place.

When he eases Isaac's head back down, he's not really expecting much of anything. He's not expecting him to calm down, and he's definitely not expecting him to, still dead asleep, turn his head and nose at the jacket until he's practically buried his head in it.

So, when Isaac does all of those things in, and in surprisingly quick succession for someone that's out like a freaking light, Danny's really not sure how to take it. 'In stride' seems to be the best way so far, so that's what Danny ends up going with, and even allows himself a small smile, because even just that one little thing seemed to help, and at the risk of sounding really self-obsessed…Danny did that. He helped.

_Finally_.

"I take it you two are close."

Danny tears his eyes away from Isaac's now-peaceful face – and Stiles was right; he's getting used to it – to look at Peter. He's sitting back in his chair, looking comfy as G with his leg crossed and a knowing sort of smile on his face.

"Yeah," Danny says. He tries not to make it sound like a challenge, tries to keep the _what of it_ hidden someplace silent and unspoken, but he's not sure it works.

"But he hasn't told you anything about all of," Peter gestures vaguely, "this."

It's not really a question, but Danny shakes his head, anyway.

Peter nods, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, well, can you blame him? I imagine it's a lot to take in. I'm sure he was just waiting for the right time."

It's hard to tell if he's taunting him, or if he's being genuinely sympathetic. He wants to believe the latter, it's just…there's this vibe about Peter. This sort of underlying eeriness that Danny can't really figure out. He's really not sure he wants to.

He does know one thing, though. "No. I don't blame him." Which is kind of surprising to him, too, because even with everything, the fact remains that his boyfriend's been lying to him for months. Or, if not lying to him, then at least keeping secrets. His friends, too. All this time, he's felt like the odd man out, felt like the last to know, and it's because they've been keeping this from him. There's a part of him that thinks he should be furious.

He just…isn't.

Peter looks surprised, too. His eyebrow arches high, and his eyes go just a little bit wide. "Oh?" he says. "That's…strangely reasonable of you."

"Strangely?"

The look of surprise becomes very pointed. "You're a teenager. Reason isn't exactly your prerogative at this age."

"Says the man that runs with wolves."

Peter chuckles. "I _am_ the wolf."

"Oh." Danny blinks. "So then you're…"

"Derek's uncle," Peter says, eyes flashing mischievously. He knows that's not what Danny was talking about. "_And_ a werewolf, yes. I honestly can't tell you which is more dangerous."

There's a story there; Danny can tell. He's not going to ask, though. He's got something else in mind for story time.

"Could you tell me about it?" he asks. His voice comes out sounding a little weak, a little shaky, but he clears his throat and keeps going. "About...werewolves?" He forces himself to say the word. To _accept_ it, and everything it means.

There isn't any other option.

Peter's eyes soften almost imperceptibly. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." He's tired of being out of the loop. He's tired of not knowing. If he knows…maybe he can help. For real next time, like Stiles, not just come running in after the fight's over and the damage is done. "I want to know everything."

"Well then, Danny, you might want to grab a seat." Peter stretches out his leg and nudges the chair behind Danny lightly. "We have a lot to talk about."

Danny drops into it gracelessly, fingers still threaded absently in Isaac's hair. It's not really intentional; he just can't bring himself to pull his hand away. He and Isaac will have a lot to talk about, too, when he's up to it, about Isaac's part in this specifically: how it happened, what it's like, why he didn't tell.

For now, though, Danny's happy with broad strokes. And as Peter began to explain it to him, to tell him about the werewolves and the hunters and the alphas and everything else that had been going on in Beacon Hills under the cover of night, Danny listened, and he listened well. Because ignorance…ignorance isn't really bliss at all.

Not anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

A bright flash startles Danny awake. Which is weird for any number of reasons, but mostly because Danny doesn't actually remember falling asleep.

He jerks awake, though, sitting up suddenly in his seat, and it's not until he's done having a minor heart attack that he realizes what's going on.

Freaking _Peter_. He's got his phone out, and Danny's been a social teenager long enough to know what the flash from a phone camera looks like, even if he was dozing when he saw it.

"What are you doing?" He tries not to sound annoyed, but he's pretty sure he just lost ten years off his life. And considering what all else has happened tonight, he's pretty sure he's running a little low on years to spare. At this rate, he'll be lucky if he makes it to legal adulthood.

Peter just smiles innocently, like there's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a picture of someone while their sleeping, never mind scaring the bejeezus out of them to do it. Although, Danny's kind of getting the impression that Peter's concepts of right and wrong are a little skewed. After everything he told him about what's been going on the past few months in Beacon Hills – and holy hell, between the truth about all the recent animal attacks that weren't really animal attacks, the low-down on the full-on _war_ going on between the werewolves and Allison's extended family, and the footnotes version of Werewolves 101, Danny's thinking he's gonna have to start writing this crap down – he guesses he should probably be relieved Peter's just taking a picture and not, you know, ripping him in half.

And there go another ten years.

"Stiles asked for proof of life," he says by way of explanation, and then he holds out the phone for Danny's inspection. Danny takes it, if only because it's habit, and he's surprised to find he actually smiles a little bit. "You have to admit: it's kind of adorable."

Crazy and homicidal and _hopefully_ reformed though he may be, the man's not wrong. Apparently, when he fell asleep, he decided Isaac's shoulder would be a super pillow, and Isaac likewise decided, as much as he liked nosing Danny's jacket, the real thing was much better. He'd turned over on his side in his sleep, curling up a little and nuzzling his nose into Danny's hair, and from the angle it was taken, Danny couldn't even see any of the wolfiness that still seemed to be sticking around. Not that that would have any impact on the cuteness. It just meant he could totally make it the wallpaper of his iPad or something and no one would ask questions.

So yeah, _Isaac_, at least, was adorable. Danny looked like he'd pulled an all-nighter studying for a chemistry test. Same distressing info-dump, except somehow, werewolves don't seem so terrifying by comparison.

He's about to pass the phone back to Peter with the express instruction _not _to send this to Stiles, because then it'll be all over the group within a couple hours, and Danny's pulling exclusive rights to this little photographic gem. He thinks it'll be nice to have something to remember about tonight that isn't blood or screaming or fear.

Besides, he doesn't have nearly enough photos of them together.

But just when he's holding it out to him, he sees the smile fall from Peter's face. His eyes widen just a little bit, and Danny can actually _see_ him tense up.

"What?" he says, even though he's not really sure he wants to know. "What is it?" It doesn't occur to him until after he's asked that Peter's not even looking at him.

He's looking at Isaac.

"He's waking up."

Danny stands so quickly he knocks the chair over. Which, as it turns out, is not a great thing when there's a werewolf starting to come around. Loud noises apparently scare them. At least, they do Isaac.

He can only watch as Isaac's eyes bolt open, and he can barely keep up as, in the blink of an eye, he rolls off the table and onto his feet. Accelerated healing or not, though, his leg's not ready to hold his weight up, and instead of what would've been probably a pretty impressive retreat to the corner ends up being a stomach-clenching fall that only gets worse when Isaac scrambles back the last few feet on his hands until he's flush against the corner.

Behind him, he hears something that sounds suspiciously like a growl coming from Peter, and he's not really sure what he's doing when he turns to tell him to stop; it's just kind of reflex.

Mercifully, it doesn't come back to bite him in the ass – literally or figuratively. Peter, whose eyes were flashing amber and whose teeth had suddenly sharpened to fangs, piped down, although Danny noticed he didn't calm down.

He couldn't blame him; he felt about one notch of tension away from snapping every muscle and tendon in his body.

But then he turns back around, and he sees Isaac staring back at him, his gold eyes wide and something akin to shock playing on his features. Shock and confusion, like he doesn't quite understand what's going on, but it scares him. And then, before Danny can say anything, this soft sort of sound that reminds him a little too much of a scolded puppy breaks from Isaac's throat, and he buries his head in his arms and tucks himself into the wall like he's trying to disappear into it.

He's hiding.

He's hiding _from Danny_.

Or maybe, Danny thinks, he's hiding _for_ him.

His suspicion's confirmed when he starts to move towards him. Which is probably kind of a stupid move, especially since the big bad werewolf guy behind him's got his proverbial hackles raised, but the fact of the matter is, Isaac could probably be four-legged, furry all over, and snarling like he was rabid, and Danny still wouldn't think twice about is.

He's not though. He's not furry, not four-legged, and he's _definitely_ not snarling. No, right now he's about six feet of long, lean limbs curled up into the tightest ball imaginable in the corner, ripped jeans covered in blood and bare shoulders and back literally _shaking_.

"Don't," he thinks he hears him say, but he's not sure, because the whole talking thing's kind of new. He wasn't exactly articulate the last time he was awake. But then, when he gets close enough to kneel down in front of him, he definitely hears it again. "_Danny_." His name sounds like a plea, and he can't tell if he's gritting his teeth or of his teeth are just…too...big, but it sounds tense, and his voice is shaking just as hard as his shoulders. This close, Danny can see the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His hair's damp with it, clinging to the nape of his neck.

Without thinking, Danny reaches up to run his fingers through it, only to pause with his hand cupping the back of his neck when he flinches. "Isaac," he says softly. "Isaac, look at me."

Isaac just buries his head deeper, and Danny winces when he sees his clawed fingers tightening into fists in his hair. He knows it hurts, and that hurts him. Almost as much as Isaac's next words.

"Please, Danny." His voice is hitched high, reedy and terse. "I don't—don't look. Please, don't look." And Danny knows his voice well enough to know he's crying, and that's it. Danny can't – _won't_ take this anymore.

He wraps his hand around Isaac's thin wrist, and starts to pull it away. "Isaac," he says when he feels him resisting. It's not quite a warning, but it's a little stronger than a request.

Isaac whines low in his throat, and he holds out a little longer. Finally, though, he caves and lets Danny pull his arm away from his face.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't surprised to see Isaac's blue eyes staring back at him, just like he'd be lying if he said he was expecting to see the rest of his face back to normal. But he does, and honestly?

He doesn't even care.

He doesn't care that he's "back to normal" – and _normal_ doesn't even taste right on his tongue anymore; _normal_ is just a word…it isn't real, and it doesn't matter. Because there are tears in those blue eyes, and that beautiful face is twisted into an expression of fear and pain that breaks Danny's heart, and to hell with werewolves and hunters and wolfsbane bullets and Alphas and every other crazy thing that's happened tonight, he does the _normal_ thing.

He wraps his arms around his boyfriend, and he holds him while he cries.

Danny's crying, too. He knows he is, and who the hell cares, because he thinks it's justified. And if anyone disagrees, they can shove it right up their asses, because they don't matter. The only one that matters right now is Isaac.

"It's okay," he tells him, his own voice wavering and thick. "Isaac, you're okay." He doesn't tell him he doesn't care about him being a werewolf, because that's not true. He does care. It just doesn't change the way he feels about him, doesn't change how much he cares about _him_. That goes unspoken too, but….he thinks Isaac understands.

Suddenly, Isaac's got his arms around him, too, and he's clinging to him with this desperate sort of tension in his whole body. For the first time, Danny has to wonder if he's having to hold himself back, if he's having to fight to keep from holding too tight or squeezing to hard, and that just makes him sadder, because Isaac shouldn't have to worry about that. He's spent so much of his life having to be afraid of people; he shouldn't have to be afraid of _himself_.

He's holding tight, though, almost like he's afraid to let go. Like he's afraid to let up even just a little bit, and this close, Danny can feel his whole body shaking. That and the moisture seeping through the shoulder of his t-shirt are Danny's only clues that Isaac's still crying; he's not a sobber. He doesn't wail or blubber or bawl like some of the other people Danny sometimes ends up sharing his shoulder with – he himself is a rambler or a ranter, depending on what kind of crying it is.

Isaac, though, cries silently. It just kind of trickles out, like water strained through a little crack in a dam. Any talking comes later, if there even is any talking. There will be this time; there kind of has to be. But that can wait.

See, he won't try to say he knows exactly what Isaac's going through. At the same time, though, he _will_ say that he knows what it's like, being terrified that the people he loves wouldn't accept who he really is. He _knows_ how hard that is, how much it hurts.

Just like he knows the bone-shattering _relief_ when he realized they loved him anyway.

Between the two of them, Danny knows there's a lot of water behind that dam. And what the hell, maybe it's not too far out there to think that some of it's because he's actually _physically _hurting, because Danny knows his leg at least isn't a hundred-percent, and he knows he'd probably be freaking bawling if someone put a bullet in him. He was enough of a wreck when he found out someone put a bullet in _Isaac_.

He knows it sounds kind of shallow coming from someone that's never been shot, but he actually thinks he would've preferred to take the bullet himself.

That's not an option, though. What _is_ an option is sitting here, hugging his boyfriend after a God-awful night, so that's what he's doing. And that's what he's going to keep doing, as long as Isaac needs, because honestly? He needs this, too. They need _each other_.

The rest?

It can wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Danny's really not sure how long they were sitting there – long enough for his legs to fall asleep and his ass to go numb – but he's really glad when they get up. Not because of the aforementioned leg-and-ass situation, either. He just happens to think the floor is no place for someone that's still recovering from a freaking gunshot wound and near-evisceration.

And besides, there's…there's just something about the image of Isaac sitting curled up the corner that makes Danny's heart ache.

Isaac doesn't say a word when they get up. He's got his eyes fixed on the floor or the wall or, well, anywhere but _Danny_, which Danny tries really hard not to take personally. He succeeds for the most part, too.

He also succeeds in getting him back over to the table, which is especially impressive because it's just him and Isaac. Peter's apparently decided he's needed elsewhere, and Danny actually thinks he kind of appreciates it. This is kind of a one-on-one thing, and he's grateful for the privacy.

Of course, that also means silence. With Peter gone and Isaac apparently entertaining a vow of silence that Danny didn't know about, it's so freaking _quiet_, he can hear the crickets outside the window.

_Where's Stiles when you need him_?

But no, he can handle this. Not that it needs _handling_. Isaac doesn't need _handling_. He just needs…coaxing, maybe is the right word. It's not like he's clamming up deliberately; Isaac doesn't really do the silent treatment. He's just naturally reserved, and he doesn't say things without thinking about them. And right now, Danny can practically hear the wheels in his head spinning out, trying to think of what he wants to say, trying to figure out what he _should_ say, and he knows that the longer it takes, the more it freaks him out. He's already got that wide-eyed, thousand-yard stare pointed directly at the floor.

That's Danny's cue. Only, he's not really sure what to say, either. Normally, there's something that seems appropriate and harmless all at the same time that he can use as filler until Isaac gets his thoughts together. Maybe even to _help_ him get his thoughts together. But what the heck's he supposed to talk about now? That special on wolves he saw on Animal Planet? That time they watched _Balto_ while his parents were out? Somehow, he doesn't think either of those would help.

He's wracking his brain, trying to think of something to break the silence, when all of the sudden, "I talked to Peter."

It just kind of slips out. He doesn't mean to say it, but it's out there, and he can feel Isaac stiffen beside him.

It's better than nothing, so he goes with it.

"Or, I guess, he talked to me. I didn't really have a whole lot to contribute, but he's pretty chatty once you get him started. He told me about, you know, you guys. Werewolves." It's weird, but he thinks he's actually starting to get comfortable with the word. Maybe even the idea. "It's kind of different from all the stories. I mean, they got the moon thing kinda right, but Peter was saying you don't always…_change_. You don't always lose control. And you obviously don't go all _American Werewolf in London_, with the shaggy fur and muzzle and everything, which is kind of good I guess, because I'm actually allergic to dog dander."

He might be imagining it, but he thinks he hears Isaac snort. When he glances over, though, he's still picking at the torn edge of his jeans and staring at the floor.

So, Danny keeps going. It's not hard; now that he's gotten some momentum going, it's actually kind of easy to keep it coming. _Really_ easy, and suddenly he's thinking he might understand Stiles' rambling. "Peter and Derek didn't even look _any_ different. Neither did Scott. Peter said you're getting the hang of it, too, though, and I get that tonight was kind of an…off night." And the award for understatement of the year goes to…. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, though. I mean, however it happens. I'm sure you'll get it. I have faith in you."

Obviously, he does. The only other explanation for why he doesn't run screaming in the opposite direction is that he's got some kind of death wish, and he's actually kind of attached to his life right now, weird as it is.

No, it's just that he trusts him. He knows him, and he knows he's a good, kind, all-around-amazing guy…werewolf…person.

Boyfriend.

"He told me how it happens, too."

That gets Isaac's attention. Danny can feel him go ramrod straight against his side, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees his jaw clench so tight he thinks he might be able to hear his teeth grinding.

He keeps going. "The bite, I mean, and the whole thing with the Alpha. I'm still trying to get my head around the whole Alpha-Beta-Omega thing. I'll definitely never look at the Greek alphabet the same way. And frat names are definitely kind of fun to think about."

And he's definitely getting off subject. _God_, he's turning into Stiles. Is this what it's like in his head all the time? If so, he's got new respect for him. New, mad respect. He thinks he'd probably go insane. Then again, maybe that ships already sailed.

But he digresses.

"I was wondering, though…if Derek's your Alpha, and you get the bite from the Alpha, does that mean—"

"I asked him for it."

There it is. Isaac's finally found his voice. And the roles are reversed, because now Danny has no idea what to say. That's…not what he was expecting to hear, and he doesn't understand. He wants to ask for an explanation, even though he knows Isaac doesn't owe him one. He wants to ask him _why_.

Turns out, he doesn't have to.

"He found me that night the grave robber hit the cemetery," Isaac begins. His voice is quiet, measured, and his eyes are still fixed on the floor. "I got knocked into a grave, and I—I thought—" His voice hitches, and he runs his hand through his hair and straightens a little bit. "But then he was there, and he helped me, and I don't…I don't know how he knew, but I know he did. He knew."

Danny feels his stomach twist sickly. "About your dad." It's not a question. He knows now. He knows that there's only one thing that makes Isaac look like he does now, that same mix of fear and hurt. The way his lip pulls down from his teeth, the way his eyes go wide like he's seeing something that isn't really there. Danny's seen that look more times than he likes to think about.

He gives a stiff nod. "But it wasn't _just_ my dad. I was…I was always afraid to do anything. I didn't talk to people, didn't make friends. I was too scared. But then, Derek found me, and he said…he said he could help me. He said I wouldn't have to be scared anymore, and I…I wanted that. I wanted that so bad. I know it sounds—"

"Isaac, I'm not judging you." How could he? If he was in Isaac's place, he probably wouldn't have chosen any differently. Hell, he's not even sure he could've handled being in Isaac's place, wasn't sure he could've endured the things Isaac had to endure. He certainly couldn't blame him for wanting to get away from it. "I just want to understand. Did he…did he tell you about all of this before he did it?" He's honestly a little confused when Isaac nods. "Even the hunters?"

"He told me everything."

"And you still wanted the bite?" He really isn't trying to interrogate him. He just doesn't get it. Isaac wanted the bite to _stop_ being afraid, but with the hunters and the Alphas and everything else, he knows there are people and things out there maybe even worse than Mr. Lahey trying to hurt him. Surely he's got to be afraid of that. "I don't understand."

But Isaac just sighs, and finally, _finally_, he raises his head and looks at Danny. "I would rather be afraid to die," he says, "than afraid to live."

And that hits Danny hard, because…_God_, what a choice.

Danny can only stare as Isaac drops his eyes back to the floor, his jaw working and his fingers pulling at the frayed threads on his jeans. "I was always so afraid," he says. "I never did anything. Never _risked_ anything. But then I got the Bite, and—" he pauses, takes a breath, and then restarts. "At first, it was all about the power. It felt like I was finally on top of it all, like I was untouchable."

"Your asshole phase?" What? He calls them like he sees them, and they've sort of talked about it before: the leather, the scathing remarks, the general air of 'fuck you' he broadcasted. Danny thought it was just because of his dad, and maybe that _was_ part of it, but the whole werewolf thing puts it in a different light.

Besides, Isaac doesn't seem to hold it against him. He lets out a ragged chuckle, shaking his head, and there's a wry sort of smile on his lips when he cuts his eyes over at Danny. "Yeah," he says. "My asshole phase."

"So, what happened?"

Isaac shrugs. "A lot of things, I guess…I realized I wasn't as untouchable as I thought. There are things out there a lot stronger than me." And there's just a hint of that look again, that far-off look, and Danny doesn't think it's coincidence that his arm curls around his chest.

Danny goes out on a limb and catches Isaac's hand, threading his fingers through Isaac's. He gives him a reassuring squeeze, because even if there are things out there that hurt him, they're not here now. Danny is.

He thinks it was the right move, because Isaac tears his eyes away from the floor to look at their hands together, and the wry smile softens a little, and when he continues, his voice is lighter.

"Then I found a pack. A real one." And again, Danny thinks it isn't coincidence when, this time, Isaac's fingers tighten around his own. "Turns out, being afraid wasn't nearly as bad as being alone."

And this time, when Isaac raises his head, he turns his whole body, folding his leg on the table between them, and Danny kind of reflexively mirrors the gesture. Whatever Isaac's about to say, he knows it's important, not just because of the relocation, but because he knows Isaac. And God, he really _does_ have expressive eyes. He can see the worry in them, the anxiety, but there's this crazy sort of resolve in them, too, this focus. He's decided to do something, and Danny's got no idea what it is, but he feels his own palms sweating and his hair standing on end from the intensity of it.

"I was going to tell you," Isaac says, and it doesn't even cross Danny's mind to doubt him. Not with that look in his eyes. "After this full moon – _tomorrow_, I was going to tell you. I just…I wanted to be sure I could control it. I didn't want to bring you into this until I knew I could protect you, and I will. Wolves protect what we love, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Danny. _Whatever_ it takes." There's a conviction in his voice that Danny's not used to hearing, but he can't doubt that, either. Even when he drops his eyes to their hands, still entwined between them and swallows thickly. "But…it's dangerous, Danny, and I—I get it if you—"

"Isaac," Danny cuts him off, and he waits until Isaac cuts his eyes up at him through those curly bangs of his to continue, "If you say you'll get it if I don't want to be around you or any variation thereof, I swear to _God_ I will find a newspaper, and beat you senseless with it."

He's only joking…mostly, and he thinks after the initial surprise, Isaac catches on, because his lips curve upwards into a grin that crinkles his eyes, and _seriously_, what the hell even _are_ those dimples? They're unreal.

"A newspaper?" he says.

Danny feels his face flush – probably more those damn dimples than any real embarrassment, and he's ninety-nine percent certain that Isaac could weaponize that smile – but he gives a pretty casual shrug. "It was the first thing that came to—"

This time, it's Isaac that interrupts _him_, but for the who-knows-how-many-eth time that night, he really can't bring to care. Because Isaac's got his lips on his, one hand cupping the back of Danny's head, and the other still holding Danny's tightly. And when they part, it's only to breathe.

"Hey Danny?" Isaac says after a second.

"Yeah?"

Isaac leans his head against Danny's, their noses brushing. "I'm a werewolf."

And Danny can't help it; he smiles wider. Especially when a thought occurs to him.

"So, earlier…you kinda told me you loved me, didn't you?"

Isaac pulls back just a little bit, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah," he says, and he sounds equal parts confused and just a little bit…cautiously optimistic? "Yeah, I guess I did. Is that ok—"

Danny stops him with a kiss. Because hey, turnabout's fair play, and the flustered sort of look Isaac's wearing when he pulls back is worth it. And suddenly, Isaac's got his arms around him, crushing him into his chest and nuzzling his nose against his neck.

"Hey," he says, and chuckles when Isaac hums contentedly against his shoulder, "I love you, too."


End file.
